


In Me, There is You

by chalantness



Series: part of the journey is the end [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Fix-It, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 09:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18753361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: “I wasn’t sure if I should’ve woken you.”“I’m glad you did,” she whispers against his neck. “I felt—”Trapped. She felt completely trapped in her nightmare, unable to move, to breathe. She can’t bring herself to say the word, but she knows Steve understands her, anyway.He always does.





	In Me, There is You

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FANFIC CONTAINS MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS.
> 
> Earlier today you got plotless fluff, now here's plotless smut.

She doesn’t startle awake, which is maybe why she feels a little more disoriented than usual as she comes to, blinking through the dark of the bedroom. Her chest feels tight and her lungs feel a little bit like they’re burning, like she can’t take air in fast enough, until her eyes find Steve’s—bright and blue, wide with alarm, with worry—lingering just above her, snapping her out of her daze. She sucks in a sharp breath, sputtering, lungs fluttering in relief, and his large, warm, calloused hands are on her, moving firmly but slowly, rubbing in soothing circles over her back as he tugs her arm gently to sit her up. He touches her cheek, and it’s only then that she realizes that she must have cried.

“You’re alright,” he whispers, his thumb brushing a tear from the corner of her eye, his lips a gentle press against her temple.

It’s odd that this feels natural, that it feels _comfortable_ , even though Steve only just started to touch her like this. Only now did they start sharing a bed, but she wakes up next to him in Tony and Pepper’s guest bedroom, his body curled around hers, their legs tangled, and it feels as if she’s done it her whole life.

He always seems to touch her, to play with her hair and hold her hand, to kiss her, simply because he wants to, and sometimes it draws stares and smiles and smirks from their friends. But sometimes no one blinks at them. No one bats an eye, as if this intimacy between has always been there. And maybe it _has_ , just simply not in these ways before.

But it _is_ new—very new—and she clings onto this, her hand coming up to curl around his wrist, squeezing tight, to remind her where she is.

They brought her back. They won the war, they reversed the snap, and they brought her _back_ from the Soul Stone. This isn’t just a dream, isn’t just a nightmare playing tricks on her heart, and she digs her nails into Steve’s skin with how tightly she clings onto him and this truth.

If it hurts him, he doesn’t let her know. He doesn’t even _flinch_. He simply draws her to his chest and kisses her hair, her temple, her cheek, murmuring words she can’t quite catch, though the comfort her all the same. Her breaths even out in the quiet of the room, slowly but surely, and she loosens her grip but doesn’t let go. She doesn’t think she could even if she wanted to. She glances down the bed, her eyes adjusted to the dark, and takes in the way the covers and sheets are tangled around her calves. She felt as if she’d been frozen in her dream, unable to do anything but fall, but it’s obvious her body had been frantic. She can’t remember ever moving around so much in her sleep before.

As if hearing her thoughts, Steve mumbles into her hair: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that before.”

She closes her eyes, letting her head fall into the curve of his shoulder, his pulse beating just a little faster than normal under her ear. “I’ve never died and come back before.”

“Nat,” he breathes, arms tightening around her. “I wasn’t sure if I should’ve woken you.”

“I’m glad you did,” she whispers against his neck. “I felt—” _Trapped_. She felt completely trapped in her nightmare, unable to move, to _breathe_. She can’t bring herself to say the word, but she knows Steve understands her, anyway.

He always does.

“You were fine the last few nights.” It isn’t an accusation, or a question; simply an observation. They may have never shared a bed before—not like _this_ , when they mean it in a gesture of intimacy, rather than one of convenience while they’d been on a mission, or together on the run—but he still knows her habits. He’s slept near her countless times, in the same room as her, sometimes the very same space. He knows that her trauma doesn’t always catch up with her right away, so her nightmares don’t come until a bit later.

She supposes that there’s some sense of comfort in the fact that she still feels like herself, with her habits and her nuances, even after death.

She senses that same odd sort of relief in his exhale, too, and so she tips her head back to meet his gaze, her lips twitching into the wisps of a smile. His eyes wrinkle at the corners, returning her expression, and then he drops his lips to her forehead. “Come on,” he says against her skin. “Why don’t I draw a bath? Maybe that’ll calm your nerves.”

“Worth a shot,” she replies, letting him draw untangle her legs from the covers before pulling her across the bed, gathering her in his arms. Her lips twitch, her smile widening ever so slightly in amusement. A tease about him being her knight is on the tip of her tongue, but then she sucks in a soft, sharp gasp as he all but throws her over his shoulder. She feels his body shake with a quiet laugh as she lets out one of her own, breathy and light, bracing her hands against his back as she lifts her head and tries to look over her shoulder at him. She can’t see his face, but she knows – she just _knows_ – that if she could, she would find a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, his eyes glinting in delight.

He flicks on the light to the adjoining bathroom, and she squints slightly against the sudden brightness as he sets her down atop the counter. He kisses her gently, briefly, and sure enough, there’s that damn expression of his that she loves a little too much.

She watches as he turns away from her, twists the faucet and get the water running, and then he’s reaching back and grabbing at his shirt with his fist, yanking it off and over his head before tossing it to the floor. His back is to her, his muscles flexing, and she can’t help the way that a warmth rushes through her veins as she traces the sculpted lines down his spine, to his narrow hips that make his body seem broader, if possible—and to the way his sweatpants hang low on him as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband.

Before he can peel them off, however, she slides off of the counter and crosses the small distance between them, his body tensing in surprise when her lips brush against his shoulder blade in a kiss. Her hands curve over his, and he glances over his shoulder, catching her gaze.

Then she slips underneath, hands coming around the front of him, cupping him gently, firmly, and she holds his stare as his eyelashes flutter ever so slightly. She hides her smile into his shoulder, but she knows he can still feel it.

“Nat,” he breathes, half-warning.

She burrows her face against him, wraps her fingers around his length and _feels_ his groan in the way it vibrates through his chest, against her lips. She breathes in the clean musk of his scent, relishes in that ridiculous body heat of his and the way it practically scorches her where her skin meets his—she drowns her every sense in him, her hand moving in slow, teasing strokes, wanting to lose herself in the reality of him. _Needing_ his groans in her ears, echoing in the small space of the bathroom, keeping her _here_ , in this very moment. It makes her nipples tighten through her shirt, makes warmth pool in her stomach, coiling at the base of her spine, and she relishes in every little sensation.

Then Steve is pulling her hand away, twisting around and grasping at her shirt, and she just barely moves with him to let him peel it over her head.

“ _Nat_ ,” he groans just before his lips slant against hers, kissing her hard, kissing her deep, his hands finding her hips and pulling at her pajama shorts, then her underwear, until she’s standing bare in front of him. He smiles into her mouth. “I need you _wet_.”

Then she gasps as he lifts her with ease, lifting her up and setting into the wide tub, water spilling over the edge with the motion, but neither of them blinks at this. He twists the water off, licks water from her bottom lip before drawing away, and she practically melts against the ceramic of the tub as her body sinks further into the water. It’s almost hot enough that it could hurt, but it doesn’t, not even a little. Steve finally peels his sweats off, the length of him hard and a little wet at the tip from her touch, and she doesn’t try to hide the smile that pulls at her lips as her eyes flick back up to his. He grins, eyes glinting, and then he climbs into the tub with her, sending more water onto the floor.

He braces a forearm against the tub as he leans over her, his large, broad body covering hers, and she hooks her legs around his hips as his mouth is over hers again, parting her lips open and slipping his tongue against hers.

Her hands slide over him, fingers tracing every inch of skin it passes as they move down his chest, down to his hips, then back up, over her shoulders and down his arms. She touches him as if she’s trying to memorize his every dip and curve with her fingertips, and she lets out a soft noise of protest when he pulls away, drawing her hands off of him. She stares up at him, eyelids half-closed, lips parted, and he peers down at her with dark, stormy blue eyes as they trace down her body the way her fingers had touched his.

Then he shifts back, leaning against the other end of the tub as he draws her body to his, turning her around in the water until she’s settled between his legs, her back turned toward him. He gathers her hair and pushes it over one shoulder, kisses the curve of her neck, once, twice, three times, as he gently digs his thumbs into her shoulders. She lets out a soft noise from the back of her throat, her head tipping back, and he digs his thumbs just a little bit harder, circling into her flesh as he slowly moves his way down. She hadn’t even realized how tense she’d felt from her nightmare until now, with the heat of the water making her feel loose and pliant under Steve’s touch, her nerves all but dissipating with every gentle press. He makes his way down her back, following the curve of her spine until he reaches her hips, sliding around and over the tops of her thighs.

The first brush of his fingers over the folds of her sex makes her jump, so brief that she thinks it had maybe been an accident.

Until two fingers are pressing against her again in purposeful strokes, parting her sex. Her lips fall open in a soft moan as his mouth skims over her pulse, sucking at it gently at first, then a little harder. His fingertips find her little bundle of nerves with ease and he teases it in slow circles, her hips starting to rock against his hand as she moans louder.

“Quiet, love,” he shushes gently, smirking into her neck as he dips his fingers lower, lower, finding her entrance. “Someone will hear you.”

She bites down on her lower lip, _hard_ , stifling another desperate noise from the back of her throat. She can feel the hard length of him against the small of her back with every roll of her hips, but when she tries to reach back and touch him, he pulls his hand off of her and grasps her wrist, bringing it out of the water to curl her fingers over the edge of the tub. He doesn’t say anything and she can’t see his expression, but she can practically _feel_ the command radiating off of him, pinning her in place, and she lets out something akin to a mewl when his fingers find her entrance again with slow, teasing strokes. Then he presses his face into her cheek, kisses her skin and sinks two fingers inside of her.

She’s not quite sure if it’s because she feels more sensitive with the heat of the water, or with the way they’re pressed together like this, confined in the space of the tub – or simply because her every sense is filled with Steve, aroused beyond compare – but already, she can feel the pleasure build as it spirals down her spine.

He curls his fingers, quickly finding a rhythm that makes her vision eyes haze over.

She doesn’t know how long it takes—minutes, _seconds_ —but then his other hand slips forward, finding her clit in quick, tight circles, and she presses the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle her cry as she comes undone under his touch.

Her body writhes as best as it can with the way she’s pinned to him, and a long, low groan leaves his chest, muffled into the curve of her neck, as if he’d nearly found his own high simply from bringing hers. He’s hard, practically throbbing against the small of her back, and even dizzy and a little delirious from the tremors of her orgasm, she wants to touch him. She turns in the water, her movements feeling clumsy, but she hardly cares. She kneels and grasps at his face, pulling his mouth to hers in a kiss. She’d felt almost on the verge of passing out with the way Steve had been massaging her, with how her body felt as if it melted into the heat of the water, but now, she couldn’t feel more _awake_.

Pleasure pours over her in unrelenting waves, her skin humming, tingling, and she’s already sort of trembling as he grasps her hips and draws her against the tip of him.

Then he pulls her down, sinking her over him, and she wraps her arms around him and gasps against his forehead when she feels him bottom out inside of her. The stretch of him is delicious, the way he fills her is deep and just a little bit delirious, and she twists her fingers into his hair and exhales a shaky breath as her sex flutters and tightens.

But it’s never too much. Even like this, in this position, his body fits inside of her as perfectly as it had the very first time.

As if he was made to fit against her.

He lifts her hips up, almost all the way off, then brings them back down, each stroke slow and sensual at first, and she knows that’s for her. His jaw is locked tight, his muscles pulled taut in his restraint. He practically throbs inside of her, but he’d never, ever push her if he felt like it would be too much.

She twists her fingers tighter in his hair, lifts herself up and then sinks back down in quicker strokes, and it’s easy, the way they find their rhythm together.

She yanks his head back, just a little, gnaws on her lower lip and watches the arousal pull at his expression, even as he gives her that dimpled, boyish grin of his. His long eyelashes flutter with his arousal, his breaths growing shorter, but she knows that she’s still much closer than he is. Her first orgasm had made her all the more sensitive, the pleasure coursing through her veins, coiling low in her stomach. Her forehead falls against his, a mewl spilling from her lips as his thumb finds her little bundle of nerves as he strokes it gently, teasing just enough for her to feel herself getting closer and closer to that blissful peak. His mouth slants up against hers as he kisses her against a gasp, his grip tightening against her hips. Not enough to hurt, but enough to know that it’ll bruise, and she’ll relish in them marks just as he revels in soothing them with his tongue.

Her moan is muffled against her kiss as she unravels at the seams for a second time, her body trembling, twitching in his lap as he continues to thrust up into her. Her eyes squeeze shut with the force of her high, her hips gyrating, bucking against him, and his entire body rumbles in a groan.

He lifts her up and out of the water with ease, her body wrapped around his, as if he’d known she would be mothered by both the heat of her orgasm and the heat of the bath if she stayed in there a moment longer. She sucks in a gasp, skin prickling against the cold of the air, and the sensation feels odd with how her veins feel as if they’re on _fire_.

Steve stumbles forward, his movements graceless perhaps for the first time ever, at least that she can remember, and despite the way her mind is sort of spinning, the thought of this makes her smile.

They barely make it a few steps forward before Steve is pressing her body up against the doorframe of the bathroom, his hands pinning her hips to the wall as his pace grows faster, harder. She can just barely hear footsteps coming down the hallway – toward _their_ room – and she’s only just pressed her face into the curve of Steve’s neck when the door is being clicked open. She feels Steve tense, his hips stuttering as a startled, “oh, _shit_ —” briefly fills the air, and then the door is being slammed shut again, but not once does Steve stop. He continues moving inside of her, his body wound tight, about to burst under her fingertips, and she pulls back to stare into his eyes as their pleasure builds.

“Shit, _fuck_ , sorry—” Barnes mutters, voice muffled through the wall. Though they must have been half-hidden from the bedroom door at this angle, she knows there’s no mistaking what he saw. “We heard something, though maybe—”

“Dude, explain _later_ ,” Sam interrupts, and though the command is half-frantic, Natasha knows there’s a touch of smugness in his tone, too.

But she doesn’t care, not even a little. She can barely focus on them, barely registers the sound of them hurrying back down the hallway, because then Steve is moaning as he brings their hips flushed together, his release warm as she feels it spill inside of her.

This simple sensation tips her over the edge, too, her body coming apart once more, and it feels as if the pleasure pulls at every ounce of energy she has left. Her third orgasm is gentler than the first two, but only just barely as she digs her nails into the muscles of his back, her body quivering against his in bursts of tremors.

She feels spent. Truly and thoroughly _fucked_ , and she licks her hips, letting her head fall into the curve of his neck as, eventually, he peels her off of the wall. He makes the short distance to the bed and sets her down, still inside of her, her arms and legs still wrapped around him.

When she finds her voice, it’s breathless and heavy, thick with the sleep threatening to pull her under. “I think we’ve traumatized the entire household.”

Steve’s body vibrates with his laugh, low and rumbling. Their bodies are still wet, the bathwater dripping from their skin, quickly dampening the duvet, but neither of them seems capable of moving just yet. “They’ll get used to it,” he mumbles into her hair, kissing her there, then over her temple, against her forehead, until he finds her lips.

 _They’ll get used to it_. Part of him had been teasing, she knows, but a bigger part of him had meant it. He’d meant _more_.

This is their life now – this is _them_ now, every new and old and strange part, and everything in between – and he isn’t about to let it slip through his fingers. _They’ll get used to it_ , he promised, because he isn’t about to let anyone or anything tear her from him again.

Her lips curve into a smile as her eyelashes flutter closed, and, as she falls asleep to the thrum of his heart and the steady, warm breaths against her ear – she knows for certain that this isn’t a dream.

It’s _real_ , and it’s so much better because of it.

**Author's Note:**

> "Nats alive Steve’s back from putting the stones back - life affirming smut in the bath followed by the bed/wall/floor and then coitus interruptus from SamBucky and it’s just like we’re all here good to be alive this is our new normal" - an anon 
> 
> "Steve scaring all natasha's nightmares away after rescuing her in vormir. a little angst but loads of fluff" - another anon


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